


powerful with a little bit of tender

by cherrydior



Series: the greatest city in the world [3]
Category: Neo Yokio
Genre: (sort of?), Anal Fingering, Erotic Electrostimulation, I genuinely don’t know how this happened there wasn’t supposed to be any sex in this part, In Which Aunt Agatha Isn’t The Literal Worst For Once, M/M, Oral Sex, Pleasant Misuse Of Magic Powers, Sorry Not Sorry, also this one’s from arcangelo’s pov for once, and of course it turns out to be the longest one because the boy Never Shuts Up, bc i will stan her until the day i die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 12:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrydior/pseuds/cherrydior
Summary: He frowns, types his name into the search bar, and comes up with nothing. He tries Kaz’s name. Still nothing.“What the fuck happened?” he wonders, staring at his phone screen in complete confusion. “Am I dead? Is this the bad place?”





	powerful with a little bit of tender

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one took longer than I expected it to, largely because it ended up twice as long as I expected it to be. I blame the fact that there ended up being porn for some reason. 
> 
> Cheers to the usual crowd for reading this bullshit in its barely edited form, and for encouraging me to get this done already!

Something buzzes behind him, and Arcangelo groans, pulling a silk covered pillow over his head.

_Bzzzzz._

_Bzzzzzz._

_Bzzzzzz._

Grumbling, he gives up and reaches out from under his duvet to grab his phone, squinting sleepily at the screen.

__**Messages**  
Freddie: hey man i just heard! details????  
(131 more notifications) 

__**Phone**  
Mama  
Missed call  
(26 more notifications) 

“The fuck?” he murmurs, swiping through to his home screen and pulling up the bachelor board rankings.

**Current Rankings  
** 1\. Freddie Miles  
2\. Hideki Mazzoni  
3\. Simon Hammerstein  
... 

He frowns, types his name into the search bar, and comes up with nothing. He tries Kaz’s name. Still nothing.

“What the fuck happened?” he wonders, staring at his phone screen in complete confusion. “Am I dead? Is this the bad place?” He pauses and glances at the other side of the bed, sighing in relief when he sees a shock of pink hair sticking out from under the duvet. “Well, no, it can’t be if Kaz is here, but…”

He’s briefly distracted by a text notification from Matoko Goldberg: “YOOOOOO I JUST SAW THE POST! IT’S ABOUT TIME!!!!! GAY RIGHTS!!!!!”

“the post?” he types warily.

“!!!!!!”

She sends him a picture of today’s edition of the Neo Yokio Post, and, _oh_. “Oh, _shit_,” he whispers.

**SPOTTED: TOP BACHELORS CORELLI AND KAAN IN SECRET RELATIONSHIP?**

Well, he supposes that explains why he couldn’t find his name on the board.

Arcangelo swears fluently under his breath, reaching over to shake Kaz awake. “Babe? Babe, wake up, something’s happened.”

“Nooooo, leave the Balenciaga alone,” Kaz whines, rolling over and pulling the duvet over his head.

“Yes, I know, you’re an absolute angel and it’s unfair how adorable you are, but I really need you to wake up! Please? For me?”

A phone rings on the other side of the bed, and Kaz emerges from under the duvet, blinking back sleep. Arcangelo freezes, icy dread settling at the base of his spine. “Wait, Kaz, don’t answer that, I haven’t told you —”

But before he can finish, a loud voice emanates from the phone’s speaker, and Arcangelo groans, flopping back on the pillows in defeat.

“Kaz, you idiot!” a woman who Arcangelo assumes is Kaz’s aunt yells. “What have I told you about dating east siders?”

Kaz yawns. “To be fair, Aunt Agatha, technically you told me to stop dating east side _girls_...” He trails off, sitting up abruptly. “Wait, what? How did you find out about that?”

“How did — you and Corelli are on the front page of the _Post_! How do you think?!”

Kaz turns to look at him, and Arcangelo raises his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “I just found out two minutes ago, I was trying to warn you,” he says softly.

“Was there anything else you wanted, or did you just call to yell at me about dating Arcangelo?” Kaz drawls, turning his attention back to his aunt. “Only, it’s still early, and I was planning to sleep until noon.”

There’s a rush of static as she exhales. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy, Kaz, but you need to understand that —”

“Hi, Agatha!” Arcangelo interrupts cheerfully, because he’s not going to listen to someone talk shit about him like he’s not sitting right there. “How’s your morning been? Great weather, right?”

There is a tense silence.

“Mr. Corelli,” Agatha finally acknowledges. 

“So, listen, I just found out about this whole thing, right? And like, I’m not saying they’re completely wrong, because we are, in fact, dating, but this article was totally uncalled for? Like, neither of us wanted or were prepared for this, and I for one am absolutely going to get to the bottom of this, don’t even worry about it —”

“We’re public figures, Aunt Agatha, obviously it was going to be a big news story, right? Like, I’m annoyed about it coming out without our knowledge or consent, but it’s been, like, a month, it was only a matter of time —”

“Boys!” she interrupts, and they both fall silent. “This is not an appropriate medium to have this discussion, and you both know it. Kaz, meet me for dinner tonight at Jean-Georges, and bring your… boyfriend.”

She ends the call, and they sit in silence for a moment before Kaz drops the phone and rolls on top of Arcangelo.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he says, laying his head on his chest. “We’re going to dinner, that’s a good sign, everyone knows you can’t cause a scene in a fine dining environment.” Arcangelo tenses up, and Kaz lifts himself up to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“We’re having dinner with your aunt. Your aunt, who raised you for most of your life.”

“...Yes?”

“This is like me meeting the parents, Kaz! This is serious shit! What if she doesn’t approve — well, okay, she already doesn’t approve, but what if I can’t get her to change her mind? Fuck, what am I going to wear? I need to go shopping, I don’t think I have time to get a new suit tailored, though… Does my hair look okay? Should I go get highlights? Oh, shit, and a _manicure_, I didn’t even _think_ —”

Kaz rolls his eyes. “You’re having dinner with my aunt, not going to the Met Gala. Calm down.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want her standing up and objecting at our wedding.”

“Well, she hates east siders as a general rule,” Kaz says thoughtfully, then pauses. “Wait, what wedding? We’ve been dating for a month!”

“But like, I’m not just any east sider, though, I’m a fucking _Corelli_. What other fucking east sider, or anyone else in this goddamn city for that matter, has anti-demonic weaponry? Nobody! It’s us, because dear old Teddy was a badass who knew how to get shit done, and you Magistocrats, and that’s it!”

Kaz sits up and looks at Arcangelo curiously. “Do you know how to use all that stuff? Like, it still works?”

“Yeah, obviously,” he says with a dismissive hand wave. “Like, it hasn’t all just been sitting in the vault for a hundred and fifty years, Corellis have always been trained to shoot from a young age, it’s traditional. I mean, obviously I wouldn’t be as useful in a fight as an actual Magistocrat, especially because I don’t have, like, real experience, but I’d like to think that I could at least hold my own against a demon if I had my pistols with me. You know, if I had to.”

“Huh. Hidden depths,” Kaz says, almost to himself.

“Haven’t I always said that pretty and brainless is just an act to fool my enemies?” Arcangelo says with a grin. “I’m not _completely_ decorative, you know. Just think of me like… like a good suit. Stunning to look at, full of personality, and sharp AF.”

Kaz gropes for his phone, looks at the screen, and groans. “It is too goddamn early for me to be hearing the phrase ‘sharp AF’ said out loud, unironically. I am going back to sleep. Goodnight.”

Arcangelo stares at his iMac Pro and groans, flopping onto the desk. Where the fuck does he even start with this bullfuckery? They’re currently trending on Twitter, his Instagram’s drowning in notifications, and he’s afraid to check any of his email inboxes aside from his personal account, which contains nothing but an email from the Neo Yokio Gucci boutique thanking him for his most recent purchase. 

If he’d at least had some warning, or, you know, a say in the matter, he could have prepared a statement or something, but as it stands, he’s not even sure what the proper response _is_. Is there any point in contacting his lawyer if nothing the _Post_ said was incorrect? Obviously, Arcangelo’s willing to go stand in the middle of Times Square with a megaphone proclaiming his undying love for Kaz Kaan, but he has absolutely no shame. The real question is, will _Kaz_ be okay with their relationship being public knowledge? Should he deny everything? Will Kaz even still _want_ to be in a relationship, public or otherwise?

“I’m going to yeet my goddamn iMac into the sea,” he says decisively, “and go live in the wilds of New Jersey.”

There’s a cackle behind him, and he turns to see — _god_ — Kaz in one of his Gucci sweaters, lace Versace boxer briefs just peeking out from under the hem, lit up by laughter and warm afternoon sunlight, and he looks so goddamn _stunning_ that Arcangelo forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“I absolutely adore you,” he says helplessly, so full of love he feels like he could burst from it. “You beautiful, incredible, unbelievably amazing gentleman. I can’t even express, just, _god_.”

“Flatterer,” Kaz accuses him, but he’s practically glowing at the praise. 

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, babe,” he points out, pulling him onto his lap.

Kaz hums vaguely, straddling him. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Arcangelo smiles softly, running his hands up and down Kaz’s torso. “You are so incredibly fucking gorgeous, but you know that. You make my day better just by existing, like, I don’t even have to see you and I’ll just grin like an idiot out of nowhere because I’m thinking about you. I love your honesty, that you just say what you’re thinking and don’t bullshit people, and, god, you’re so good at everything you do! You’re so knowledgeable about couture, and I love playing field hockey with you, and I’ve only seen you use your powers a few times but like. You’re just incredible, like, everything about you, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence, then: “Wait, I just had a thought, I’m going to try something real quick.”

“Sure,” he says easily, because how can he not, but then he feels static crackling in the air and glances down to see Kaz’s hand cloaked in a blue glow. “Babe…” he begins warily, but Kaz tips his head back up to look him in the eye.

“Trust me?” 

Arcangelo gazes into those beautiful violet eyes, now so dark as to appear nearly black, and all he can think is, god, he wants to marry this man. “Always.”

“Good,” he says with a grin, and pulls him in for a kiss. “I’ll do my best not to kill you.”

“Not to — Kaz!”

Kaz snickers and kisses him again, deeply this time, and Arcangelo lets himself get carried away on sensation. He lets his hand rest on the nape of Kaz’s neck, nails digging lightly into skin, and nips at Kaz’s bottom lip as the magistocrat slowly runs his hands under Arcangelo’s shirt, electricity gently sparking along his stomach, his ribs, his chest — _oh_.

His eyes roll back and his breath catches in his throat for a moment as a light shock catches his nipple — just the one, Kaz _is_ being careful — and unconsciously tightens his grip on the man’s neck, who whimpers softly in return. 

“Okay,” Kaz says breathlessly, drawing his hand away for a moment. “Good?”

Arcangelo just looks at him for a moment before pointedly rolling his hips. “What do you think?”

He looks proud of himself for a brief moment, then glances speculatively down at the obvious bulge in Arcangelo’s Versace joggers. “Hey, Ange…” 

It takes him a moment to make the connection. “Oh, god, yes. Yes, absolutely, I am so incredibly down for that.”

Kaz grins and kisses him before slowly sliding off his lap, landing between his legs. “You can play with my hair if you’re gentle about it,” he offers, and Arcangelo swears.

“You really are gonna kill me, huh?” Arcangelo says, eyes wide. “But god, what a way to go.”

“I mean, it shouldn’t kill you. People do similar things with mild electric shocks, right? Magic is just another form of energy,” he muses. 

Arcangelo blinks. How in the hell does Kaz know about violet wands? He’s positive he’s never been to any of the more questionable clubs that he himself has visited in the past… “Hidden depths,” he murmurs to himself as he helps Kaz get his sweatpants off.

“Some of us _read_, Arcangelo,” he says defensively, nipping him lightly on the thigh.

Yeah, that seems more sensical. “I wasn’t complaining,” he says, gently stroking Kaz’s face. “Surprised, is all. Here I thought I was the kinky one in this relationship.”

Kaz makes a face at him. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

“Okay, I’ll shut up.” He smiles winningly down at Kaz, who rolls his eyes. “I love you,” he adds sweetly.

Blue static envelops Kaz’s hand again.

Arcangelo grins. This is exactly the kind of distraction he needs.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, or do something other than what I’m doing,” he says, tracing designs on Arcangelo’s inner thigh. “I haven’t, you know, used my powers on anyone else, so.”

“Aww, I’m special,” he coos, torn between feeling genuinely touched by that and remembering the time Kaz threw him across Bergdorf’s. This is, so far, definitely a more pleasant experience. “No, I like it. Kinda tingly, you know, warm and buzzy? Pleasantly zappy.”

“Good,” he murmurs, “because there’s still some more things I want to try.”

Arcangelo doesn’t have much time to speculate before Kaz turns his full attention back to his dick, gently stroking it a few times before letting sparks of magical energy play along the length of it.

_Oh, okay,_ he thinks vaguely as his eyes roll back in his head. He’s not a hundred percent sure if the moan is just in his head, or if he’s actually made that noise out loud, but honestly, as long as Kaz keeps doing that, he really doesn’t care. 

He hears snickering coming from the vicinity of his lap and looks down to see Kaz replace his hand with his mouth, glancing up at him with a knowing sparkle in his eye. 

“I love you,” Arcangelo says helplessly, slouching further in his chair. He allows a hand to slowly venture towards Kaz’s hair, but pulls it back abruptly whenever Kaz does something that feels particularly nice, with the result that he hasn’t actually managed to get farther than his hip.

Eventually, Kaz rolls his eyes and puts Arcangelo’s hand in his hair himself. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, though,” he protests, inhaling sharply and spreading his fingers to avoid accidentally _yanking_ as Kaz’s other hand traces its way down behind his balls and lets off a spark, and finishes weakly, “or, god forbid, your gorgeous hair.”

Kaz pulls off and looks up at him. “If you do, I really will kill you,” he says brightly as he yanks open a desk drawer and begins rifling through it.

“I’d kill _myself_, your hair is a national treasure,” he says, reverently stroking the aforementioned locs.

A moment later, Kaz holds up a small bottle with a triumphant laugh, and Arcangelo blinks.

“Wait, are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

Kaz pauses. “Are you opposed to what you think I’m thinking?”

“I am not,” he eventually decides, and Kaz grins at him.

“Good.”

That’s not to say that he’s not a little bit nervous. It’s been… a while… since Arcangelo’s let anyone do this for him, and _never_ by a (surprisingly experimental) magistocrat. He suspects he may possibly be the only person stupid enough to actively encourage those experimental tendencies. Unfortunately, he’s curious by nature, and that curiosity is demanding to know what, exactly, that vaguely electrical magical energy is going to feel like on _all_ his sensitive spots.

Still, he tenses slightly as Kaz nudges his legs a bit farther apart, and he looks up at him with a frown.

“Are you sure? You can tell me to fuck off, you know.”

“No, I want this, I do!” Arcangelo hastens to assure him. “Just, you know, it’s been a minute since I’ve let anyone near my ass, so like... be gentle, or whatever.”

Kaz rolls his eyes and holds up two fingers. “That’s it. That’s all I’m doing.”

“You should feel honored that I’m trusting you to do this. If you were literally anyone else…”

“Lucky I usually don’t mind making you do all the work, then.” A pause, then, “I’ll go slow. No surprises until you’re ready.”

“You’re a star, Kazzy, babe,” he sighs gratefully. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand dismissively. “There’s no point if you’re not into it, you know?”

Which is true enough, he supposes; how else is Kaz supposed to know what works and what doesn’t? Arcangelo watches, somewhat less warily, as he opens the lube, trying not to visibly tense up again a moment later as he feels a slick finger tracing around his hole.

“Okay?” Kaz asks, catching his eye.

He exhales slowly, and nods.

It burns a bit, and he’s not surprised by that — it really has been a hot minute since he’s done anything approaching bottoming, and he maintains that Kaz is the only one he’d be willing to be that vulnerable for ever again — but it’s not particularly enjoyable, and he bites back a whimper, staring determinedly at the ceiling. It’ll pass, damn it, just give it a minute, he tells himself. 

Arcangelo hears Kaz mutter something to himself, and the finger retreats for a moment, coming back with — _ah, more lube, brilliant_. It’s easier this time, not quite as… well, as much of a pain in the ass, and whether that’s to do with the extra lube or having adjusted to the intrusion is frankly not something Arcangelo cares to determine. Either way, Kaz is now able to actually make some progress in stretching him out a bit, and as long as he can —

“Oh,” he gasps inadvertently, a hand scrabbling to grab onto _something_. “Yeah, that, just. That. More of that.”

Kaz breathes out something that might be a laugh and brushes a kiss against his inner thigh. “Think you’re ready for another?”

He considers this, as much as he can consider anything with a finger resting against his prostate. “Probably? But like… lube. Lots of lube.”

“Obviously.” He grins mischievously and brushes his finger upward — Arcangelo inhales sharply and tightens his grip on what he belatedly realizes is Kaz’s shoulder — before pulling out entirely and reaching for the lube again.

Arcangelo looks up at the ceiling and tries to remember how to breathe, and it feels like both a second and an eternity passes before there’s two fingers at his entrance and he’s being asked if this — he — is okay. He closes his eyes and nods.

And, really, he _is_ okay now. It’s like his body has finally gotten the message that this isn’t actually that scary, that he’s with someone he trusts, and that… well, it’s going to be interesting, if nothing else. It also doesn’t hurt that Kaz doesn’t shy away from going right back to the fun stuff this time, since it’s not like he needs to worry about further preparations. It is, he muses to himself, kind of hard to ruminate with your extremely adorable boyfriend laser-focused on getting you off in fun, experimental ways.

“Let me know when you’re ready for…” Kaz trails off, and instead of explaining verbally, briefly produces a small ball of magic with the hand that isn’t busy doing other things.

“Now,” he asserts breathlessly, bucking his hips impatiently. “Now is good.”

“So _demanding_,” he teases him, and Arcangelo huffs out a strained laugh.

“Well, I’m gonna — _oh_ — come in a minute, so…”

“That’s fair,” Kaz concedes, eases up on his rhythm and pulls his fingers back slightly so Arcangelo can catch his breath. Then —

_Oh_.

Buzzywarmgood_yes_ —

He’s vaguely aware of arching his back, his eyes fluttering shut — and then his vision clears, and he whines at the sudden loss of sensation.

“—kay? Shit, did I fuck up, Ange, talk to me, please?”

“I just had a goddamn spiritual experience,” Arcangelo says in a deceptively pleasant tone, “and if you stop before I come again, I’m going to throw you off the balcony.”

Kaz grins, and Arcangelo thinks he says something, but the warm buzzy goodness is back and it’s _more_ now, all-encompassing and overwhelming in the very best way, and it’s so good, and it’s so much — and for a moment he’s hit with a sudden surge of bone-deep _love_ — and he gives himself over to the sensations, to the love and the sparks and the warmth and the _light_.

He’s not sure how long it is before suddenly everything is _too much_ and overflows, and Arcangelo slowly comes back to himself, blinking as his office comes back into view. “Oh my god,” he hears himself say faintly. There’s still a residual buzzing not entirely unlike static lingering in his body, and everything sounds like he’s wearing earplugs, and god, he doesn’t think he’s come that hard _ever_.

“That was... spectacular,” Arcangelo mumbles vaguely, sliding bonelessly out of his desk chair to collapse on top of Kaz, pinning him to the floor. “We’re definitely doing that again.”

Kaz just laughs at him, carding a hand affectionately through his hair. “All nice and relaxed now?”

“I don’t even _like_ bottoming. How dare you.” He sighs, burying his face in Kaz’s neck. “Gonna have a nap.”

“Ange, you need to shower,” Kaz points out, in the voice of someone explaining something very simple to a small child.

“I’ll get to it. When my spirit returns to my body.”

A pause. “It’s four thirty.”

“Thank you, Alexa, I literally did not ask.”

“Let me rephrase that: you have two hours to get ready before we meet Aunt Agatha for dinner.”

The reminder is like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over him, and he sits up abruptly, swearing under his breath. “Fuck, I forgot about that. Tell her my cat died. I had to wash my hair. I had to dye my cat’s hair. You know what, let’s just elope to Positano and never have to do the whole meeting the families thing, yeah? Well, except my nonna, who lives at the villa, but she’s great, you’ll love her —”

Kaz is laughing at him again. “There’s only room for one melodramatic pessimist in this relationship, Arcangelo, and it’s never going to be you. It’ll be fine, and if it’s not, I’m not above having Aunt Angélique restrain her at our hypothetical wedding.”

He has a point. Arcangelo may be a bit… much, sometimes, but he’s usually pretty optimistic. And also, he doesn’t have a literal mortuary monument in a rooftop graveyard in the city where he sulks when he’s upset, so yeah, Kaz definitely wins that one. If it weren’t for his unshakeable devotion to prep school chic, Arcangelo thinks offhandedly, he’d make an excellent goth. He’d look spectacular in black eyeliner and Arcangelo’s new favorite Balmain jeans, anyway.

He sighs and carefully gets to his feet. “Okay, I’m going to shower. I think I’ll have time to deep condition my hair if I blowdry it after. God, what the _fuck_ am I going to wear?”

“Horns and the pelt of a large animal,” Kaz deadpans. “I’ll go through your closet and see what speaks to me. I’m sure you have something that’s not _completely_ horrendous.”

“See, I would take offense to that,” Arcangelo says sweetly, “but you’re wearing my clothes, babe.”

Seven o’clock finds them pulling up to the restaurant, nicely polished and appropriately dressed in black Tom Ford suits, despite Arcangelo’s worries. He tosses the keys to his current favorite classic car — a red Aston Martin DB4 convertible — at the valet and shoves the ticket in his pocket absently, far too keyed up to pay attention to his surroundings. He’s only met Agatha Kaan a few times in passing, but she has a hell of a reputation, and honestly, Arcangelo had been a little afraid of her even before he started getting closer to Kaz.

The stories he’s heard since _really_ haven’t helped.

“Are we going to just stand outside all night, or are we going to actually go inside?” Kaz asks him pointedly. 

“I’m still pulling for the ‘eloping to Positano’ plan, personally,” Arcangelo replies in a deceptively casual tone, staring at the doors to the restaurant. 

“Don’t you dare make me face this alone, Arcangelo, or I swear on the ghost of Coco Chanel I will never sleep with you again,” he says in an undertone, pasting on a fake smile and linking arms with him. “At least there’s food inside.”

“They have food in Italy. Delicious food, even,” he protests mildly, but allows himself to be pulled inside. “Is she here yet? I hope she’s fashionably late, just give me enough time for a quick cocktail, that’s all I ask.”

Kaz elbows him and addresses the maître d’. “Reservation for Agatha Kaan?”

“Of course. Right this way, sirs.” 

Arcangelo follows, more because Kaz is still holding onto his arm than out of any conscious thought process telling him to move. He feels like he’s standing off to the side watching himself walk towards his impending doom. To those who are about to meet their death, we salute you, and your incredibly on-trend Gucci monkstraps, he thinks wryly to himself as he catches sight of Agatha herself already seated at the table.

All too soon, they arrive, and are assured their waiter will be with them shortly. 

God, but he’d shank a bitch for a stiff drink. 

Instead, as the waiter is unfortunately not right there to bring him an entire bottle of Glenlivet, he takes a deep breath, focuses on the fact that he’s doing this for Kaz and he needs to prove whatever preconceived notions she has about him wrong, and holds out a hand. “Madame Kaan,” he says with a polite smile, inclining his head.

She stares at him for a moment before taking it, and god, does she have a firm grip, but his father hasn’t been drilling social graces into his skull from the time he was three for nothing. “Arcangelo Corelli,” she acknowledges in an even tone, and gestures for both of them to sit. 

Agatha waits until after the drink orders have been taken — and Arcangelo is mildly amused that they seem to have both had the same idea to consume literally all of the scotch — to continue the conversation.

“So, Mr. Corelli, I’m told you’re seeing my nephew,” she begins, sipping her old fashioned. 

Yes, he too has been told that, he doesn’t say. “One could say that,” he hedges. “The Post certainly had no problem doing so.”

Kaz kicks him lightly under the table. Agatha, on the other hand, looks intrigued.

“You would disagree?”

“I would,” Arcangelo says slowly. “It’s not… Look, I’m just going to level with you, Ms. Kaan. I fully intend to marry your nephew, and I don’t feel like ‘seeing Kaz’ fully encompasses how much I don’t ever want to spend a day without him.” 

“Is that so?” she asks in an indifferent tone.

“It is,” he responds confidently, because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he loves Kaz so much that it’d probably make most people crazy. Hell, it makes _him_ crazy, sometimes. “I know that we’ve had a… complicated history, but I’d die for him, I really would. I love him, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“‘Complicated history’,” she scoffs. “Weren’t you two ‘arch-nemeses’ this time last year? And now you’re talking about marriage?”

“Aww, I was your arch-nemesis? That’s adorable, I’m honored,” Arcangelo says to Kaz, genuinely pleased by this news.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna be again if you keep telling my aunt you want to marry me,” Kaz says through his teeth, a prominent blush on his face.

“But I _do_ want to marry you,” he replies, nonplussed. “I’ve definitely mentioned this before. And, I mean, technically, we already got married on the playground that one day when we were six, so if we get Freddie Miles to get a clerical license off the internet —” 

“Oh, god, I forgot about that,” Kaz groans, burying his face in his hands. “I am not letting Freddie Miles officiate my _real_ wedding, Arcangelo. We’re getting married by my Aunt Angélique, or nobody at all.”

“But we _are_ getting married,” he concludes, satisfied.

Kaz sighs in resignation, but really, he’s had plenty of time to get used to Arcangelo’s nonsense by now. “Buy me a ring, and ask me properly, and _maybe_ I’ll consider it.” Arcangelo makes eye contact and allows a hand to pointedly drift towards his inside jacket pocket, causing Kaz’s eyes to widen. “Don’t you _dare_, Arcangelo.”

He laughs. “I’m kidding, babe, I don’t actually have the ring on me. Relax.”

“Another round,” Agatha says, and oh, the waiter’s here. Oops. “And the spring menu.”

Arcangelo glances over the menu in a mild panic. On one hand, yeah, that’ll do; on the other, he’s not sure whether or not opting for a seven course meal is a sign of approval on Agatha’s part. In the end, he figures it doesn’t really matter if it is or not, because literally none of those seven courses sound like something he’d dislike. 

Kaz waits for the waiter to leave before turning to his aunt. “I can’t believe you ordered for us!” he grumbles.

“Well, you were too busy flirting to bother looking at the menu,” she says, unbothered. 

She’s not wrong. Arcangelo freely admits he walked in with only the vaguest idea of what the restaurant served. “And also,” he points out, “who goes to a restaurant with a seasonal tasting menu and orders literally anything else?”

“Exactly,” Agatha says. “The chef planned the menu for a reason.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying, like, you go to a nice gourmet restaurant because they employ highly skilled chefs, right? If you don’t trust the chef to know how best to compose a meal using seasonal ingredients, you might as well go to Chipotle and have done with it! Like, obviously there’s going to be more passion and creativity in those seasonal tasting menus than in the kitchen’s five hundredth Caesar salad today.”

Their drinks arrive along with the first course, and Kaz takes the opportunity to give Arcangelo a pointed, questioning look. 

“It’s chawanmushi, I think, isn’t it?” Arcangelo says innocently, deliberately misunderstanding the look, and takes a delicate spoonful, contemplating the flavors. “Savory custard, kind of ocean-y; you’ll like it, it’s good.”

Several light courses pass with equally light conversation, and for a moment Arcangelo thinks maybe he’s already passed the test, because surely it’s as obvious to her as it is to everyone else that they belong together. 

Then the waiter brings out the lobster and ravioli, and Arcangelo’s just taken his first forkful when Agatha begins the second wave of attack.

“So, Arcangelo, what are you doing these days?”

_Translation,_ he thinks as he chews his suddenly tasteless food, _are you just another stereotypical old money East Sider who belongs on Desperate Housewives, or do you actually Have Interests and Do Things?_

“Well,” he says after a moment of thought. “I’ve been really busy with my podcast — just over thirty million subscribers — and I just branched into regular vlogs and other video content about six months ago? I completely overhauled my website for that, too, which was fun. Then it’s also getting to be field hockey season, and obviously that’s a big time sink, as you probably know from Kaz. It’s not the only sport I play, but it’s by far my favorite. I’m trying to get back into songwriting, too, but spring’s always really busy for me, and I just don’t have the time with all my other obligations.”

Agatha takes a sip of her drink, looking at him silently, and _god_ but he wishes she wasn’t wearing those fucking Céline sunglasses so he could have the slightest chance of figuring out what she’s thinking. 

They _are_ very fashionable, though, he’ll give her that.

“I see,” she says simply, returning her attention to her meal.

_What the fuck does that mean?_

Arcangelo exhales sharply and downs the rest of his drink, signaling to a waiter for a refill. He hates to chug top shelf whiskey like it’s shitty beer, but needs must. And, really, Agatha’s matching him drop for drop, so…

An elbow gently nudges him under the table, and he looks over at Kaz, who’s giving him a sympathetic look. Arcangelo smiles back at him and grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. He’s doing this for Kaz, who’s had to put up with Agatha’s bullshit for his whole life. Surely he can deal with her for two hours?

He brightens, then, remembering that at least Kaz is going to have to meet his family, too. “Sunday brunch,” he reminds Kaz under his breath, but Agatha seems to catch it anyway.

“Yes, how is your family taking the news that their only son is dating a, how do they phrase it on your side of town, neo-riche rat catcher?”

“They’re well aware that I’ve been in love with your nephew since I was six, it’s not exactly news,” Arcangelo says with a shrug. “Anyway, our families used to be allies way back in the day. Like, when Great-Whatever Grandpa Teddy did the whole ‘let’s bring magistocrats to Neo Yokio to help us win the Great Demon War’ thing? And we’re the only founding family who can say we still have anti-demonic weaponry. The fact that I’ve gone off the Board to date a magistocrat isn’t going to be an issue. I mean, I retired as Ichiban, they can’t complain about that.”

“And if you do end up marrying, as you claim to intend?” she presses.

“We will, and we’ll have a spring wedding at the Plaza,” Arcangelo replies dryly. “Or possibly the Botanical Gardens, if we want to do an outdoor ceremony.”

“What happened to eloping to Positano?” Kaz teases, clearly unable to help himself.

“Oh, I could absolutely be convinced to marry you on the beach, just us and the ocean, but I assumed you’d want to invite people.”

“I don’t know. Aunt Agatha, _do_ I want to invite people?” he asks pointedly. “Because, personally, I’m beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of elopement.”

A tense silence falls over the table upon this declaration, with both Kaans staring each other down. A waiter comes over and replaces their empty dishes with the final savory course, and brings Arcangelo a new glass of whiskey, which he grabs like a lifeline and takes a large sip of immediately. 

“You must really like this boy,” Agatha says slowly, “to defend him so resolutely.”

“I know you think all my exes were assholes,” Kaz says in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “and, honestly, they were, but that’s on them. Arcangelo’s different, and _yes_, if you’d told me this time last year that I’d be saying any of this, I’d think you were absolutely cuckoo bananas, but…” He sighs, shaking his head. “Everything else aside, he _did_ almost die for me, just because I asked him to help me, months before we started dating. My exes, my friends, _literally no one else_ would’ve done that. You don’t have to go get brunch every week, you don’t even have to like him as a person, but you need to accept that I do like him. Be fair, he’s not even close to being the worst person I’ve dated.”

Agatha hums indifferently. “You did go out with a demon once. Not to mention the Sailor Pellegrino incident.”

Kaz snickers. “That’s so mean, but so true. God, she was awful. I’d almost rather have had a relationship with the literal demon.”

“Wait, wait, you went out with a _demon?_” Arcangelo interrupts, hoping his voice is less squeaky than it sounds to him.

“Yeah, you didn’t hear about that?” Kaz asks in surprise. “Sailor turned out to be a demon. Why do you think I came back to the ball last year looking like I got hit by a bus?”

He blinks. “I mean, I figured it was something demon-related, but I didn’t think it was _Sailor Pellegrino_. They really do just let anyone on the pop charts, don’t they?”

Kaz huffs out a laugh, and turns back to his aunt. “The point is, even you have to admit that I could do a lot worse than Arcangelo, and we’re probably going to end up married, so…”

“Kaz…” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose underneath her sunglasses. “Isn’t it a little soon for you to be talking about marrying someone?”

He shrugs. “I mean, maybe, but I’ve known him all my life, Aunt Agatha, I’m already aware of his faults. This isn’t just the honeymoon period talking, I don’t have him up on a pedestal, I’m not just latching on to the first significant other to actually care about me as a person rather than a status symbol.”

“And you think he does care about you?”

“I know he does,” Kaz scoffs. “No one can _fake_ that level of emotion, trust me. Anyway, it’s like you said, he’d be dating down; there’s nothing in it for him status-wise.”

Arcangelo begs to differ; there’s nothing remotely inferior about Kaz, and frankly he thinks he’s superior in quite a lot of ways, but he realises that arguing wouldn’t help Kaz’s point. Instead, he picks up his fork and prods listlessly at the lamb chops that he doubts anyone is going to bother to actually enjoy. 

Agatha stares at Kaz with the same unreadable expression for what feels like forever before finally sighing in resignation. “If you must,” she concedes reluctantly, “but if this ends up the way all the rest of them have…”

“Then they’ll never find his body, I know,” Kaz says dismissively. “For the record, you’d have to find it if you want to exact revenge, because I’d kill him first.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Arcangelo says, then blinks. He did not intend to say that out loud. “I mean.”

“I know what you meant,” Kaz assures him, eyes sparkling in amusement.

Thank god someone does; he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about half the time. Arcangelo wisely chooses to keep his mouth shut, because all the whiskey he’s drunk is _really_ starting to hit him hard, and he’d rather not ruin the tentative tolerance their relationship has gotten from Agatha. Instead he chooses to smile at Kaz and quietly admire how beautiful his eyes are, and how clever he is for successfully convincing his aunt, and how lucky Arcangelo is that he’s agreed to date him at all. 

“You’re drunk,” Kaz mouths silently at him when his aunt is distracted by the waiter.

“’S okay,” he murmurs, leaning his head on Kaz’s shoulder. “You can drive home, I trust you.”

“Sure, I will.” Kaz lightly runs his nails over Arcangelo’s scalp, and he nuzzles into his shoulder like a spoiled cat. “Come on, Ange, just one more course.”

His eyes pop open in realisation. “_Dessert,_” he says reverently, “the most important meal of the day.”

“That’s right,” he says encouragingly. “Just smile and nod through whatever the hell a cloud is, and then we can go home.”

Arcangelo sits up properly again, because there’s no better motivator than sweets and a bed in his near future, and he doesn’t notice the courses have changed until he smells something hot and bitter and realises some absolute angel has brought him coffee. He cradles the cup in his hands and glances up at the ceiling — because the sudden appearance of this hot caffeinated beverage is clearly the work of a benevolent and merciful god — before carefully taking a sip. _Beautiful._

“Is he… okay?”

A snort. “I’d love to blame it on the alcohol, but he’s just… like this, about coffee.”

“Coffee is proof of a loving and benevolent deity, Kaz,” Arcangelo replies instantly. “It’s the source of all life, my reason for getting out of bed in the morning.”

Kaz just pats him on the shoulder without saying a word, which suits him just fine. Arcangelo allows the conversation to wash over him as he blissfully drinks his coffee, which really is surprisingly okay for coffee he hadn’t brewed himself from artisanal freshly ground beans. 

He then remembers that the coffee was meant to be accompanied by a dessert, and looks down, only to realize with disappointment that this is an elegant gourmet restaurant, and as such, the desserts are barely substantial enough to be worthy of the name. Although, really, what would one expect from something called a cloud?

He demolishes it in two bites. Tragic.

Kaz elbows him in the side, and he sits up straight, reflexively saying, “Pardon?”

“I was saying,” Agatha repeats, “that as… fascinating… as this evening has been, it is time for me to take my leave.”

“Oh!” Arcangelo scrambles to his feet, offering a hand. “It was lovely to formally meet you, Madame Kaan.”

She merely looks at his hand. “Don’t push your luck.”

And with that, she breezes out of the restaurant, leaving the two of them at an empty table.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) As before, the restaurant mentioned is a real restaurant in New York, and the menu described is the actual seasonal spring menu from this year.
> 
> 2) Yes, I have Opinions about Corelli Family Lore. It will get expanded on in future parts.
> 
> 3) Yes, Gucci actually does send out thank you emails for in store purchases. The survey doesn’t come until a week later. Also, the lace Versace boxers are real, and the minute I saw them I needed one of these idiots to wear them.
> 
> 4) I get the impression that Arcangelo (or his dad, or both) is a car collector, because who the fuck else besides a hipster car collector would buy an MGA? So I gave him a James Bond car, because why not lmao


End file.
